27/10/2024
I’m Chris Jo Hart, a paranormal investigator, psychic, shaman, and spiritual medium. My work is a journey through time and beyond the veil, unraveling stories of past lives, spirits, and mysterious forces that linger among us. Recently, a woman named Eileen came to me with a tale of deep unease and fear. She had recently bought a historic coach house at the edge of a moor, near Berwick-upon-Tweed on the Scottish borders. But instead of a peaceful retreat, her new home had become a place of restless energy, strange apparitions, and chilling disturbances that kept her awake night after night. Things moved on their own. Shadows seemed to slip across the rooms. She was haunted in her own house.
Eileen described her new property, an inn called The Fiddler’s Hay. Built in the 17th century, it had been a bustling waystation for travelers and coachmen long ago, a lively inn where weary souls found warmth and shelter. But even from her first night there, Eileen felt she wasn’t alone. The nights were filled with strange sounds, an eerie energy that pressed upon her, shadows that crept along the walls. She sensed something trapped there, something unable—or unwilling—to leave. Exhausted and unnerved, Eileen came to me, hoping for answers.
The Wild Scottish Borderlands
The wild Scottish borderlands have long harbored tales that slip the bonds of time. I’ve spent my life exploring these tales, seeking the legendary “time slip” portals where the past and present meet. Such places are rare, but The Fiddler’s Hay seemed like one of those powerful thresholds. With its age and history as an inn, it wasn’t surprising that memories lingered, especially in a place like this, where people had lived, loved, laughed, and died.
To help her, I asked Eileen to picture herself walking through the rooms of the house, imagining each detail and sharing that energy with me. Through this technique, I could feel the home’s energy, see its past, and sense the spirits still bound there. And soon, one presence began to sharpen, a young girl around fourteen or fifteen, standing alone, tied to the inn’s history. She felt raw and restless, her hands chapped from endless labor—a scullery maid, a servant whose spirit had never left the inn’s cold stone walls. Her name came as a whisper, almost lost in time. Mary, maybe. But it wasn’t just Mary who was there; I sensed a family—a father, a mother, and this daughter—who had all once been part of the inn’s life and who, even in death, remained bound to it.
Eileen was riveted, but still more haunted by her sleepless nights. As I continued to connect to the inn’s spirit, a realization crept over me—a powerful, nearly electric sense of something unique. The Fiddler’s Hay was more than haunted by memories; it was a time slip portal.
The Time Slip Revelation
Time slips are rare phenomena, places where the barrier between eras thins and events from the past can echo into the present. These portals allow moments from history to replay themselves like scenes from a play, with people in the present glimpsing, hearing, or even feeling the past. For those who encounter them, time slips can be overwhelming, as the boundary between now and then blurs. Some people walk right into them, suddenly finding themselves in another era for seconds—or hours—before returning to the present, disoriented and shaken.
As Eileen described the sensations in one room, I knew it was more than just residual energy or a trapped spirit. When she entered the downstairs living room, she would be pulled into another time. She smelled old wood smoke and sawdust, the mingling scents of beer and pipe smoke filling her senses. She felt the life of the inn’s past as if it were still happening. This was a classic time slip—a rare and powerful phenomenon that allowed Eileen to see and feel the life that had once filled The Fiddler’s Hay.
Excitement surged through me; I had spent my career searching for places like this, places where time itself faltered. But the more I explored the vision, the more I realized there was a deeper layer—a connection between Eileen and this place, a connection that reached back into history.
Visions of a Past Life
As Eileen continued describing her strange bond with the inn, an image appeared in my mind with startling clarity. It was of Eileen—but not as herself. She appeared as a man, standing tall in rough coachman’s clothes, a figure brimming with confidence and shadowed secrets. This man was a coachman, and his name, like a whisper from the past, was Patrick.
Patrick had once lived in this inn, working by day as a coachman and slipping into the night as a highwayman. With his deep knowledge of the routes and schedules of wealthy travelers, Patrick would don his cloak, mount his horse, and lie in wait on the moors, robbing travelers of their riches and slipping away before they could raise alarm. And by his side, a jet-black horse named Beauty—a horse Patrick loved as fiercely as his freedom.
As the vision sharpened, I saw Patrick’s life unfold in fleeting scenes: his wild grin as he galloped across the moor, the thrill in his eyes as he hid from pursuing riders, the easy laughter that filled The Fiddler’s Hay when he shared tales with his comrades by the inn’s fire. But fate had turned against him. Captured and jailed, Patrick had died in prison, separated from Beauty, from freedom, and from the life he had loved. Yet his spirit had not entirely left. It had returned in another form, in another life—as Eileen.
When I shared this vision with her, Eileen was stunned. She sat in silence as I described Patrick’s adventures, his love for the open moor, and his bond with his horse. Finally, with a look of shock and awe, she whispered, “I’ve ridden horses my entire life, and I’ve always been drawn to black horses.” Her voice caught with emotion as she continued, “I actually bought a black horse recently. He’s an Andalusian named Icon. I searched for years to find him, and when I finally did, I felt as if I’d found…a piece of myself.”
At that moment, the connection between her past and present life fell into place. Patrick had returned in this life as Eileen, drawn back to his old haunts and to another magnificent black horse. Eileen’s search for Icon, the strange call of The Fiddler’s Hay, the haunting presence of the inn’s past—all of it was the echo of her former life reaching out to complete itself.
A Homecoming from Another Life
In the days that followed, Eileen moved through the inn with new purpose. She performed the cleansing rituals I’d recommended, releasing the trapped spirits of Mary and her family, letting them find peace at last. But when she entered the time slip room—the living room with its scent of sawdust and smoke—she knew she could never banish Patrick’s energy entirely. This was the place that bound her across time, that reminded her of lives past and future.
As I left her that final night, the portal between Eileen’s lives had found a balance. The Fiddler’s Hay had not merely haunted her; it had called her home. It would remain there, a crack in time, an echoing place where one life and another crossed paths, bridging centuries with memories of love, loyalty, and the wild abandon of a highwayman’s heart.
Are you haunted by echoes from your past? Does a place, a person, or a memory seem familiar beyond explanation? Explore the mysteries of your own past lives and unlock the connections that may bind you across time. Reach out for a psychic reading or paranormal investigation. Contact me, Chris Jo Hart, on WhatsApp at 07702 211 930.
